Engineering Enigma
by jgracetheauthor
Summary: We've heard Doctor McCoy's version of the events a particularly traumatic day on the Enterprise... but what was going on in engineering? Was it really Montgomery's fault?


Engineering Enigma

or

Montgomery's Misadventure

Montgomery was busy connecting the neural circuits of the thruster ionization panels, when he felt a finger tap the back of his head. He looked up expecting to see his best friend Doctor McCoy standing there, which is precisely what he saw.

"Well, Doctor, what brings you into this neck of the woods?"

He stood up to face the doctor, wiping his hands on a rag from his pocket. The doctor was looking unusually cheery, and Montgomery wondered if something had happened to merit this situation.

"Well, Scotty old boy, just thought I'd come down and ask if you wanted to come to breakfast with me." The doctor rubbed his hands together happily. "I'm awfully hungry."

"I suppose I could manage that, Doctor McCoy." Montgomery shoved the rag back in his pocket and proceeded to follow the doctor out of engineering, into the turbolift, and from there into mess hall.

The doctor did appear rather hungry this morning, as he ordered a humongous breakfast of bacon, eggs, French toast, orange juice, hash browns and a blueberry muffin from the replicator.

"My, you certainly are hungry, Doctor," observed Montgomery, his eyes widening at the unusually large amount of breakfast the doctor was consuming.

"Well, I told you I was," chirped the doctor, wiping his mouth. At this point, he had eaten all the bacon, half of the eggs, most of the French toast, all but one bite of hash browns, and he had drunk the entire glass of orange juice. Sadly, he hadn't been able to touch the muffin. "Would you like the rest, Scotty?"

Montgomery thought was rather nice of him to ask, so even though he was not hungry, he accepted. With a friendly smile, the doctor pushed the rest of his food over to Montgomery, stood up, and left the room with a spring in his step. As Montgomery was not, indeed, hungry, he slipped the rest to Mr. Chekov, who he privately thought was looking a bit thin. Then he, too, went on his way, finding himself happier, because of his best friend's cheerfulness.

Montgomery trotted down to engineering, and went back to work on the circuits. He'd been working in comparative silence for about half an hour, when a red alert sounded somewhere on his right.

"What in the…" he began, as he rushed over to see what was going on. He gazed at the blinking monitor, which showed a loss of power to the inertial dampener systems. Before he had time to examine further, the ship gave an enormous lurch, throwing him against the panel.

A well-known voice came from the communicator on the wall to his left.

"Scotty, what in the name of Andromeda is going on down there?" It was the voice of Captain James Kirk

Montgomery rushed to the communicator, and put his finger on the transmission button. "It's the inertial dampeners, sir. Looks like they're nonfunctional."

Kirk sounded almost relieved. "Oh, well, do your best to get them up and running again, Mr. Scott. In the meantime, I'll try not to jerk her around too much."

"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best." He pulled his finger off the button, and hurried back to the panel to begin work. As he ran off, he heard Kirk's voice calling after him, "I may just need you to do better than your best, Mr. Scott. We need those dampeners."

Montgomery sighed. Typical. He was always expected to do better than his best, and better than anyone else's best on top of that.

Staring at the monitor, he tried to find the problem. Just as he'd thought. The engines needed readjustment to compensate for the inertial impacts of motion at warp speed. He'd known he ought to have seen to that before they set out - but he'd been too busy trying to convince Doctor McCoy to take a handwriting class by e-mail. That had been more time-consuming than he'd thought it would be. And it hadn't even worked. The doctor insisted that his handwriting was fine, and even if it wasn't, why did it matter - everyone he knew was on board the _Enterprise_ with him, so there was no one to write letters to.

But back to the subject at hand - the inertial dampeners. Sprinting back to the communicator, Montgomery called back to Kirk. "Sir, I'll need to readjust the engines to compensate for the inertial impacts of motion at warp speed…"

Before Captain Kirk had time to answer, the ship jerked wildly again, and Montgomery clutched the sides of the communicator to keep himself from being thrown around. Montgomery's finger was still on the button, and he heard Doctor McCoy's voice contacting Kirk.

"Jim, what do you think you're doing up there? You're injuring and re-injuring these poor people just as fast as I can heal them."

Montgomery gulped guiltily. He hadn't even thought of that.

Kirk's voice responded calmly. "It's not my fault. The inertial dampeners are nonfunctional, so every motion of the ship is going to be felt a little more than usual."

"A little more than usual?" spluttered the doctor's voice.

"We can't avoid it until Mr. Scott readjusts the engines to compensate for the inertial impacts of motion at warp speed…"

"Doggone it Jim, I'm a doctor, not an astrophysicist. Tell Scotty to hurry up, we've got people trying to work down here."

"I'll try to be careful."

Doctor McCoy went off the line, and Kirk said, "Well, you heard the man, Scotty. Get to work at once."

"Aye, sir."

Hurrying away, he almost jumped to the engine room. Crewmen were running around, some trying to work, some limping out on their way to sick bay, and some not appearing to have any objective whatsoever in mind.

"Come now," he called, clapping his hands loudly. "This won't do at all. We have work to do, now let's get to it!"

"Yes, Mr. Scott," they called in unison, and rushed back to their stations. Montgomery himself ran over to the engine adjustment panel and began to work it. Now that he had heard about the problems in sick bay, he felt that the situation was much more urgent than he had at first thought.

It was not particularly difficult operation, nor was it unusually strenuous, but it was extremely time-consuming, because every time he began work, the ship would lurch again and Montgomery would be thrown to the floor, and would have to start all over again. And the longer it went, the more crewmen seemed to end with bumps, bruises, breaks, and all manner of injuries. At this rate, they'd never get it fixed, but Montgomery was quite certain that Kirk could never be made to consider stopping for repairs; not if he could possibly keep going.

Montgomery was sweating profusely now, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Kirk's voice again.

"Scotty," the voice began impatiently, "we could really use some inertial dampening up here. Bones is jumping all over me."

"I'm giving her all I've got, Captain!" Montgomery puffed. As if it were even possible, he began trying to work even faster.

Kirk's voice shouted back, "Well, give her more!"

At that moment, the ship swerved again, this time harder, and a giant panel from the other side of the room came loose and fell on top of a young ensign who stood there.

Montgomery dropped what he was doing, and rushed over to the young man. "Give me a hand!" he yelled, tugging at the panel with all his might.

A couple more crewmen hurried over to assist him, and together they managed to lift the panel off.

"Great Scott!" Lifting the man carefully, Montgomery gritted his teeth. "We've got to get him to sick bay right away!"

"Yes, Commander Scott." The two crewmen took the ensign from Montgomery and hurried out of engineering.

Montgomery had had enough of this. As much as he hated to cause trouble, he had to do something. He was going to have to tell Kirk the ship must be stopped. Nothing was worth all these injuries, no matter what James Kirk thought.

Clearing his throat determinedly, he walked towards the communicator with purpose. But no sooner had he laid his finger on the transmission button, then the ship jolted violently once more, throwing Montgomery back against the engine panel.

His Scottish temper was flaring now, and he was no longer reluctant. Stomping over to the communicator as his men picked themselves up, he purpose that he would tell Captain James Kirk to _stop_ this ship, whether he wanted to or not.

Before he even reached it, however, Kirk's voice came over the intercom again.

"Mr. Scott, I've been ordered to stop the ship to give you a chance to repair the inertial dampeners." His voice was slightly annoyed, as if he was being forced to act against his will, which the word "ordered" seemed to indicate.

Montgomery didn't dare to ask who had done the ordering, so he only sighed, and said "Aye, sir."

A moment later the ship slowed to a stop, and Montgomery was able to go about fixing the inertial dampeners in peace.

They were soon fixed, and when they were, he reported back to Kirk. "She's all fixed, Captain."

"Thank you, Mr. Scott. I'll ask my slave-driving master if I can resume the mission again."

Again, Montgomery wanted to ask who it was who had been brazen enough to "order" Captain Kirk to stop his ship, but he didn't think it best.

That night, he went to find Doctor McCoy, who hadn't come down for his usual after-dinner visit. He found him sitting in his quarters, fuming.

"What are you doing here?" he asked when Montgomery walked in. "I thought you'd be busy sabotaging something."

"What in the world do you mean, Doctor?" Montgomery asked, surprised. "I just came for a chat, and to see how you were doing."

"I'm not doing well at all, as if you didn't know."

Montgomery was taken aback by this reception. The doctor was often temperamental, but in their fifteen years as best friends, he could never remember seeing him in such a bad mood. "I don't know what you mean. I know you had a hard day…"

"Hard day? It was the worst day of my life! Why didn't you get those inerty dampers fixed sooner?"

"You mean the inertial dampeners?"

"Whatever, who cares what they're called? I'm a doctor, not a technician. Either way, they were down, and you were supposed to fix them."

Montgomery was rather hurt by this. After all, he'd done his best, and he hadn't exactly had a wonderful day either. "I was trying…"

"Well, why didn't you try harder? You're supposed to be a miracle worker!"

"I can't do the impossible, Doctor, no matter what James Kirk seems to think. And it wasn't my fault that they…"

"Oh it wasn't, was it? What were you doing back home instead of making sure the engines were properly adjusted? Trying to force me to take that stupid handwriting course, which I didn't even want! You were annoying me instead of doing your job, as usual."

This was going a bit far. Yes, perhaps Montgomery _should_ have taken better care to make sure everything was balanced and ready before they set out, but to say that he _always_ annoyed his best friend, and _never_ did his job, was just going too far.

"I'll have you know, laddie…"

"There! If I've told you once I've told you a thousand times not to call me laddie, and if I ever hear you say that again I'm going to knock you on the head so hard you'll have to look twice before you touch a circuit panel!"

Montgomery had no idea what that meant, but it made him mad.

"Fine! Not only shall I not call you laddie again, I'll never call you _anything_ again! I thought you were supposed to be my _friend_ , and here you go accusing me of…"

"Oh, well, if you want to go dragging all that business about friendship into it, go ahead. Why don't you just tell the whole world, while you're at it? And while we're on the subject, I'd like to remind you that we'd never have failed in the Great Pistachio Heist if it hadn't been for you! Come to think of it, almost every time we ended up in trouble it was your fault!"

"Oh it was, was it? How about the time you blew up the dean's office? Or the time you smashed Miss Shandlier's prize 2276 computer? And…"

"Oh, what are you doing here? Why don't you go away, can't you see I'm busy?"

The doctor was sitting on his bed in the dark.

Without another word, Montgomery turned on his heel and left the room. _Good riddance_ , his angry mind said, and he agreed with it.

But in bed that night, he felt differently. He and Doctor McCoy had managed to be friends for more than fifteen years, and it was a shame for it to end now. And yes the doctor had been unfair, but he _had_ had a _very_ hard day - Montgomery could have been a wee bit more understanding. His temper had cooled now, and he was feeling downright sorry for not being more patient. But, what was done was done, and he didn't think it would do any good at all to apologize. The doctor would only laugh at him, or ignore him, or glare angrily at him, or something of that nature. It was too late.

He was surprised when there was a knock on his door the next morning. Groggily, he tumbled out of bed and onto the floor. "Coming," he called, and stumbled to his feet and to the door.

To his great surprise, there was no one there. At first he didn't see anything, but then a piece of paper laying on the floor caught his eye. Picking it up, he squinted in the dark and saw that it was an envelope with the words, "To Scotty," on it in handwriting that looked a great deal like Doctor McCoy's, only a bit neater.

Closing the door and retreating into his room, he sat on the edge of the bed, turned on his lamp, and opened the envelope.

"Dear Scotty," he made out, "I was thinking last night, and I realized that the failure of the Great Pistachio Heist wasn't your fault after all. In fact, none of it was. My mistake, sorry about that.

"Oh, and it wasn't your fault about yesterday either. If Jim had stopped earlier, I bet you could have gotten things fixed much sooner. Of course, Jim is always getting himself out of trouble. I swear, I don't know how the man does it.

"In fact, I know that if he'd stopped you'd have gotten things fixed in a twinkling, because everyone knows that you're the best engineer in the universe.

"Just wanted to tell you that.

"Your friend, Doctor McCoy.

"P.S. If you still want me to take that class, I think I will. I found some free time in my schedule after all."

With a broad smile, Montgomery folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. Then he hid it in his desk drawer with Doctor McCoy's other letters. His anger was all gone, as was his sorrow. He'd been ridiculous to doubt his best friend - he should have known that no matter how much the doctor blew up at him, they'd never really give up on each other. They were friends.

He went down to engineering earlier than usual that day. There was a song in his heart, and it came out of his mouth in the form of whistling as he worked.

He'd worked in comparative silence for about half an hour, when there was a tap on the back of his head. He looked up smiling.

"Well, Doctor, are you feeling better today? I got your note, and I…"

"Yes, well," said the doctor gruffly, "that's good. When do you want me to sign up for that class?"

Montgomery thought about that. "You know, Doctor," he said slowly, "I'm not sure you need to take that class after all. I think your handwriting is just fine. Why, I read that note you left me with no trouble at all. I'm proud of you."

Doctor McCoy actually managed a half smile before he remembered that he was in a bad mood. "Thanks," he grunted. "Want to come up to breakfast with me?"

"Certainly. It would be a pleasure. But do me one favor, Doctor."

"What's that?"

"If you order a muffin this time, don't get blueberry. I don't like blueberries."

Doctor McCoy stared for a moment, then actually smiled. "I won't. What shall I get?"

"Mmm, how about lemon poppy-seed?"

"I'll do that."

And with a shared smile, the two friends walked out to start a new day aboard the _USS Enterprise_.


End file.
